


Strange Bedfellows

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During that Seventh Year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was hunting Horcruxes, Snape was Headmaster, the Carrows were teachers, and two students found support and a growing closeness in a most unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Thirty Days of Neville fest.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas unbroken_halo, perverse_idyll, and batdina.

Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to  
creep under his gaberdine; there is no other  
shelter hereabouts: misery acquaints a man with  
strange bed-fellows.  
Shakespeare, _The Tempest_ (Act II, scene ii)

 **December 1998**

"Neville!" Ron poked his head out of the main doors of Hogwarts. "You coming, mate? It's your last chance to celebrate the weekend in style."

"Thanks, but no." Neville twitched his cloak a little closer, trying to hide his new black trousers and red jumper. "I... I've got... going for a walk."

Ron came out, slung an arm across Neville's shoulders, and cajoled, "C'mon. You don't really want to go for a walk, do you? It's Friday, it's cold and windy, and they're talking about rain later tonight. The Leaky's warm and dry, and Seamus says the first round is on him. You know how often _that_ happens, yeah? It's just about a once in a lifetime event."

Neville swallowed. Why couldn't Ron just take no for an answer? The last thing he wanted to do right now was explain why he didn't want to join them. "Not tonight, all right?"

"He said no, Ron," Harry interrupted, giving Ron a bit of a shove back towards the doors. "Now get going or you'll miss that free first round."

Checking his watch, Ron swore, "Bloody hell, you're right." And with that, he stepped into a turn and Disapparated with a loud crack that made Neville jump.

"Thought he'd never leave," Harry said.

"Yeah. I just keep forgetting that the wards are still down and people can Apparate in and out."

"You all right, Nev?"

A swarm of billywigs settled in Neville's throat, making his voice crack. "You really think he'll be there?"

"Yes."

A nod, a smile, anything would be better than the tears that prickled at the back of Neville's eyes. After all, he reminded himself, he'd taken on the Carrows for the better part of a year, held his own before Voldemort himself, and killed that bloody snake for good measure. He took a deep breath. "You're right. What reason could Draco possibly have for not meeting me?"

"Precisely."

Then Neville met Harry's eyes and they both started to laugh.

"Bloody hell." Harry raked a hand through his hair, flattening a couple of cowlicks and raising a few new ones. "I'm starting to sound like Severus."

"Say hullo to himself," Neville said, relieved by the change of subject. "Remind him that some of us around here appreciate what he tried to do for us last year."

"Will do," Harry replied. "I've just about got him convinced to come out next week and help raise the wards." His smile diminished, becoming lopsided and making him look almost shy. "McGonagall said she'll go to Spinner's End and give him a piece of her mind if I can't persuade him. And you know how well that'll go over."

"Better you than me." Neville shuddered. He and Snape might have come to an accommodation of sorts over the past year, but the man was just too bloody intimidating for Neville's comfort.

"He's not that bad. Honestly. And now that the venom's completely out of his system, he's stopped being so grumpy."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Besides," Harry continued. "You're one to talk... given who you're meeting."

"Point." And, all at once, nerves aside, Neville could almost feel the ghosting of soft lips against his mouth, the shape of Draco's skull against his hands.

"Go," Harry said. "He'll be there."

"And, Nev? You look great."

~*~

 **January 1998**

Torches flared and then dimmed again as Neville ran down the corridor towards the DADA classroom. With the Carrows in pursuit, he'd abandoned his planned route past Professor McGonagall's office to Gryffindor tower.

Drawing his wand, he used the spell Luna had taught him to send the sounds of his footsteps echoing forward. He then ducked through an empty classroom and out the back door into a teacher's office that looked as if it hadn't been used for a couple of hundred years.

"Now is not the time to rest. On, on, my good man."

Wand gripped in trembling fingers, Neville ducked behind the heavy desk and peered over the surface. He was alone.

"Up here," the voice stage-whispered.

Fear merged with the adrenaline to send Neville's heart skittering in his chest as he looked again. Sir Cadogan beamed and waved at him from a picture frame on the opposite wall. His fat grey pony was dispiritedly cropping at the painted grass of the landscape.

"Hu... hullo, sir."

"Fine evening for a chase, hey what?"

"I suppose. If you're the hounds and not the fox." Neville stood up and came around the desk.

"Never fear—" the knight thumped his chest "—Sir Cadogan and his fellow portraits are at your side, sending the blaggards hither and yon."

"Thank you." Legs suddenly weak with relief, Neville sat back on the edge of the desk with a muted thump. He wouldn't get caught this time.

"Now, be off with you and let us take care of those mangy curs this night."

A flick of Neville's wand renewed the silencing charms on his shoes. He swept a bow to Sir Cadogan, checked the hall outside the main entrance to the office, and he was off again.

Neville bit his lip to stop himself from whooping as he ran, knowing that there would be no Crucio for him or his friends tonight. All those times he'd followed along behind Harry, and he finally understood. The elation blazing through him right at that minute had to be why Harry kept going up against Voldemort time after time, year after year.

Merlin, did it feel good to be alive.

Then he wondered if his parents had ever known this same feeling, and his laughter evaporated. Maybe they had. Maybe it was why they joined the Order in the first place. Maybe, just maybe, they still remembered how it felt.

Neville sped silently — madly — down the corridors to the illusory safety of the Gryffindor common room. Light flared along the hallways behind him, sparkling on the words in that night's message. _Dumbledore's Army: Still Winning the Good Fight!_

~*~

 **December 1998**

Neville jogged to the gates and then stopped. A swipe of his arm across his forehead confirmed how stupid he'd been to run. Sweaty and dishevelled was not the impression he wanted to make tonight. He didn't know how Muggles managed without cleaning and grooming charms. He shivered in a chill gust of wind and added a windbreak to his weather protection charms.

When he looked back, past the lake, the castle loomed over everything. Reflections of the setting sun flashed off windows and the lighter stone of repaired walls, turrets, and towers. Stone masters and their teams of wizards, witches, and apprentices were drifting downward next to the unfamiliar silhouette of the nearly-built, new Astronomy Tower. The crumbled remains of the original tower had been warded and spelled for protection, then left to serve as a reminder and a memorial.

"Bloody hell," Neville breathed. "We're actually _doing_ it."

Work on this one last tower and the remaining exterior restoration was almost completed. Inside, the crews were putting the finishing touches on the kitchens, Great Hall, and house dormitories. Now that they were able to live inside instead of in tents, the school bustled with newly confident house elves, students, former students, parents, and other volunteers.

Originally assigned to work on the classrooms, Neville had pushed his way into the group repairing the spell-damaged and just plain damaged hallways and staircases. He had to make sure that the alcoves and other nooks and crannies were restored as well. Just in case. After all, they'd saved his hide, if not his life, more than once last year.

~*~

 **February 1998**

"Mr Malfoy. Would you care to explain why you are loitering in the hallway instead of waiting in my office as I asked?" Snape's voice penetrated the alcove where Neville was hiding.

Instinctively, Neville tried once again to squeeze past the pedestal and broken sculpture that filled most of the small, dark space. He resisted the urge to twitch the dusty tapestry and make sure it covered the opening, to set another notice me not charm, or any of the myriad other actions that would probably alert them to his presence. Why had he decided to take this route back from his meeting with Michael Corner?

Malfoy mumbled a reply, speaking too quietly for Neville to understand the words.

"We were just discussing his detention, Severus. Don't worry, we'll escort him there," Alecto Carrow simpered, "and make sure he learns his proper place."

Snape sniffed. The same _that's unutterably disgusting_ noise he'd made whenever he bent over Neville's cauldron in class. It sent a shiver down Neville's spine.

"Well, we'll be off then," Amycus Carrow said.

"I think not," Snape responded. "Mr Malfoy's appointment with me supersedes any detention you impose."

Amycus Carrow growled. His sister cackled. "Now, now, Amycus. We must be reasonable. We can give our dear pupil—" Neville just knew she was feeling Malfoy up again and he so didn't envy the git that one "—his just rewards tomorrow night."

"If you must," Snape sneered. "Far be it for me to interfere with your... disciplinary procedures."

"And we appreciate that." Alecto Carrow giggled. "Don't we, dear brother?"

"Whatever you say, m'darling." Heavy feet thumped against stone. "So, shall we get back to our firsties then? I hate to leave them hanging like that."

The only thing that stopped Neville from sicking up all over that image was his determination not to get caught. With Luna not coming back after Christmas hols and Ginny's parents threatening to take her out of school, he was damned if he was going to give the Carrows or Snape even the slightest excuse to expel him. Swallowing hard, he listened to the footsteps heading away from where he was. Four sets, he thought. Just to be on the safe side, he waited for a few more minutes but couldn't hear anyone out there. He peeked around the tapestry to make sure and then stepped out of the alcove into the waiting silence.

"Mr Longbottom," a dark voice whispered into Neville's ear.

 _I'm deader than a doornail_ , Neville thought before he turned around to face Snape. He forced himself to look directly into Snape's eyes, fisting his robes with trembling hands. "Headmaster. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Clearly."

"Did you—" Neville was unbearably relieved that his voice didn't crack "—want something?"

"Detention, Mr Longbottom, for being out after curfew. And twenty points from Gryffindor."

Please, Merlin, don't let them be teaching Crucio tonight. He didn't think he could stand either being used as a test subject by the students learning Crucio or being chained to the wall and forced to watch others being tortured. Sick to his stomach, Neville nodded and turned in the direction of the Carrows' detention rooms.

"With me, you stupid boy," Snape snarled and then stalked off, robes billowing out.

His steps and heart lighter, Neville followed. Snape's detentions never involved torture and rarely ended up with anyone getting hurt. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to be sent to the Forbidden Forest again.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Malfoy snarled when Neville followed Snape into the Headmaster's office.

"Apparently, Mr Malfoy, you are not the only student who believes the rules do not apply to him," Snape sneered. "Be seated and be quiet, both of you, while I determine an appropriate punishment." He settled behind the desk and stared out the window at the Quidditch Pitch, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.

Neville took a seat in front of the desk and glanced at the portraits on the walls. Dumbledore was hung behind Snape's chair. The former headmaster winked at Neville, before joining the other portraits in watching Snape. It almost looked to Neville as if they were worried about the man. Unable to make sense of that, he shifted in his chair so he could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

His Slytherin uniform was immaculate and every hair was perfectly in place, yet Malfoy gave the impression of something the cat dragged in. His skin was paler than usual. Dark circles carved deeply under his puffy, reddened eyes. Even here, in Snape's office, he clutched his wand as if he couldn't live without its comfort. And, almost more interesting to Neville, Snape had not told Malfoy to put his wand away.

"See something you like?" Malfoy scowled at Neville.

Before Neville could come up with a suitable response, Snape snapped, "I told you to be quiet."

"Yes, oh lord and master," Malfoy muttered but he settled down, stroking his wand with his free hand.

He's afraid, Neville suddenly realised. Just as frightened as the rest of us are of the Carrows; not to mention whatever goes on in the Slytherin Common Room these days. For that matter, Neville thought, he hardly ever saw Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle any more and, when he did, they looked more like jailors than friends or even minions.

They served detention together that night, cleaning and repairing the little silver instruments that Neville remembered from visits when Dumbledore was headmaster. Malfoy wasn't particularly friendly, and neither of them said more than a dozen words the whole time, but Neville still felt as if some understanding had been reached between them.

~*~

 **December 1998**

The peacefulness of the walk past the lake to Hogsmeade was strange and unsettling after the madness of the past year. Serenity, he'd learned, often masked the nastiest of terrors. No matter how much he wanted to relax and enjoy himself, he couldn't stop looking for potential threats.

Relief came with the odour of something dense and green and vaguely threatening that Neville recognised from the times he'd been in the Forbidden Forest. He did _not_ want to know what produced that smell, but he welcomed the distraction and focus provided by that familiar hint of not-quite-danger.

A branch snapped in the copse to Neville's left. Without thought or consideration, he whirled, knees slightly bent, wand out, protective shield already in place. He remained in that position for several long minutes, marked only by the increasing ache in his knees, until a fawn poked its velvet nose out from behind a stand of common blackthorn — prunus spinosa, his memory supplied. Straightening his protesting leg muscles, he laughed at his over-reaction. When a doe glared at him over the fawn's head, he laughed even more, causing both deer to turn tail and run crashing through the underbrush.

Neville stopped laughing abruptly. Narcissa Malfoy had glared at him just as protectively in the Great Hall after the battle when she'd caught him looking at Draco. He'd decided not to approach the huddled Malfoys then, staying at the table with his friends after he'd finished eating.

It had only been a few months, and he couldn't help wondering if the Malfoys were still like that. Still huddled and protecting each other from all comers. Draco's trial had been the first — although far from the last — time Neville had testified before the Wizengamot and the only time he'd testified for the defendant. Draco had refused to meet Neville's eyes when he walked past him to take Harry's place in the witness box.

After the verdict though, when Draco was declared to have acted under duress and set free, the look in Draco's eyes had been hot and sweet and still burned somewhere in Neville's chest.

Then month after month had passed and he hadn't heard anything from Draco. That wasn't unexpected, he reminded himself. They'd agreed to take this time and sort things out. But, Merlin, it was hard to ignore all those _Daily Prophet_ articles about the Malfoy heir escorting this, that, and the other pureblood heiress of marriageable age to all the right parties. Even harder to pretend not to know Draco those few times when he attended the same celebrations and events and fundraisers for Harry's foundation.

How could he believe that Draco would choose him over a pretty and rich pureblood girl who could bear the children his family obligations required?

Neville's stomach knotted up, but he forced himself to keep going. He wasn't ever going to give up that easily again.

~*~

 **Early March 1998**

"This is your fault. You and your harebrained minions."

"How many times do I have to tell you? We did _not_ leave this message," Neville explained yet again. If he had the slightest idea when Snape would show up again, he'd walk away and take a break. Just because Malfoy was a prefect, didn't mean it was a good idea to leave him in charge of their detention. Neville shuddered. Then again, maybe it was a good idea when the only other alternatives were the Carrows or Filch.

Malfoy hit the graffiti with a different cleaning charm. This time he managed to lighten the lurid red into a more pinkish shade. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you and your merry band of gormless Gryffindorks haven't been scrawling illegible messages on the walls all year?"

"Nothing like this." Neville gestured at the wall where someone had drawn an almost life-size picture of the Carrows engaged in what Neville was sure had to be anatomically impossible sex.

"Hmm." Malfoy considered the wall outside the closed library. "You know, I actually believe you. It is a tad too imaginative and sexually advanced for your lot."

"Thanks... I think. Now can we please get this done before _someone_ comes around and decides to punish us for failing." Neville went back to cleaning the wall and ignoring Malfoy's constant complaints. The sound was almost pleasant really, if you stopped listening to the words and concentrated on the rise and fall of his voice.

The shove on his shoulder took Neville by surprise.

"I'm right, aren't I? You haven't heard a word I said."

"Erm."

"You insufferably rude git."

"I was trying to finish this, so we can get to bed sometime before dawn." Neville sighed.

"Got plans, do you?"

"Just contemplating the likelihood of ending up in one of the Carrows' special detentions and being forced to make nice with your Crucio-bloody-happy friends, Crabbe and Goyle," Neville shot back and then quailed inside when he realised what he'd said and who he'd said it to. This hero stuff really did get you doing things that you'd never in a million years dare to think about otherwise. He just wished it was possible to _unsay_ things sometimes.

"You should be so lucky."

"Eww, I don't think so." Neville shook his head and decided it was time for a change of subject. "So, about what you were saying? You're right. I wasn't listening. I am now though."

"Please," Malfoy drawled. "Why in Merlin's name would I repeat myself to someone with neither the intelligence nor the manners to listen in the first place?"

"I... I just... oh... never mind." Neville poured his resentment into the Scourgify he flung at the wall. Malfoy might be a pillock, but he could probably out-hex Neville with his wand hand tied behind his back. And Pomfrey had more than enough to handle with healing the victims of the Carrows' so-called discipline.

They worked in silence after that. Casting charm after charm and directing the scrub-brushes that dipped themselves in buckets of water and soap. Or, at least, Neville directed the scrub brushes while Malfoy cast the charms — apparently menial labour was only fit for house elves and beneath Malfoy's dignity.

Two hours later, a vague outline of the offending picture was still visible on the stone. Neville stretched, yawned, and sighed out his frustration and disappointment. At this point, he was convinced that even Harry wouldn't have been able to get rid of the damn thing.

Malfoy slid down to sit on the floor opposite the graffiti and whinged, "We're going to spend the rest of our lives in this detention. I swear, if I ever find out who did this, they're going to wish they only had to clean this thing off the wall when I'm finished with them."

"And then you'll be right back in detention."

"You forget who I am." Malfoy twirled his wand.

"Instead of wasting your energy plotting revenge, maybe you could, oh I don't know, use your influence on S-Snape or something and get us out of here?"

"Why would I do that?"

"He was your Head of House and... and..." Neville stumbled to a halt. There really wasn't a good way to say 'one of your lot' when 'your lot' were Death Eaters — especially when he still wasn't sure if Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark.

"Do you honestly believe that I'd waste my _influence_ on something so unimportant?"

"Can't blame a bloke for wanting to avoid needless pain and suffering," Neville muttered and joined Malfoy on the floor. It was either that or hex the git.

During the pause in Malfoy's incessant chatter, the quietness of the castle grew heavy and suffocating. They were isolated up on the fourth floor, far away from the students in the common rooms or dormitories or serving much more painful detentions. Neville found himself straining to hear any sound at all, glad for Malfoy's presence, no matter how annoying, because it meant he wasn't alone.

After several minutes, Malfoy blew out a breath and asked quietly, "Longbottom, do you trust me?"

Neville studied him. Malfoy was a contradiction in terms. He was the son of a prominent and supposedly powerful Death Eater, but he was frequently persecuted by the other Voldemort supporters at school. He never seemed to do anything wrong, but he was in detention almost as often as Neville. But what really bothered Neville was that while he didn't really trust him, he also didn't _not_ trust him any more.

Instead of squirming or looking uncomfortable under the examination, Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow.

Unable to come up with any better ideas, and figuring that Harry might just jump in with both feet under these circumstances, Neville shrugged and decided on honesty. "I don't quite distrust you."

"I hope that's good enough, because _this_ is _my_ last resort and you certainly haven't had any great ideas."

"We've got rid of most of it."

"And that's going to get us a pat on the back and release from detention, isn't it?"

Neville stared down at his feet and then back at that seemingly permanent picture. Anywhere but at Malfoy and his self-righteous attitude.

His laughter died when Malfoy slid behind him. Warmth spread across Neville's back, from the point of Malfoy's chin resting on his shoulder, the edge of Malfoy's chest against his shoulder blade, the solidity of Malfoy's leg against his arse. And then Malfoy seized Neville's wand hand with his own. Their wands aligned with an inaudible click that felt unlike anything Neville had ever known. He opened his mouth to say something, but a soft puff of breath against his ear distracted him.

The swish, the flick, the Purgo something or other that accompanied the surge of power through their wands — Neville recognised none of them. But they worked. The outline vanished from the wall. Relief from the tension, from the impossible possibility of failure, left him trembling. At the same time that Neville sagged back against Malfoy, Malfoy leant forward against him.

When Snape came to release them from detention, they were still sitting like that, supporting each other.

The Headmaster behaved as if he noticed nothing unusual. He merely peered at the wall and said, "Both of you. Go to your dorms. Now."

~*~

 

 **December 1998**

Neville stepped off the road and walked into Hogsmeade station. The platform that had seemed so enormous when he'd first arrived was tiny. Boxes of supplies for the rebuilding effort were stacked everywhere, protected by wards that shimmered colourfully in the lamplight like oil on water.

Kicking at a splintered section of board, Neville stared up the curving track away from the town. He worked on shutting everything out until all he could hear were the birds and the rustling of the long grass, shrubs and trees that swayed in the breeze. He was tempted to stay there, just like that, standing and listening, not moving forward, never knowing if he'd been rejected for the comfortable familiarity of an arranged pureblood marriage.

It's what he would have done not so long ago — taken the safe path, the known path — but he wasn't sure he knew how to do that any longer.

He raised a hand and traced the scar along his cheek. The one he'd refused to let Madam Pomfrey remove with her scar-healing salve. He needed the reminder that he was strong enough to stand up and say no, not just for others but also for himself.

Although, in this instance, he also needed to remember that he was strong enough to say yes.

~*~

 **Early April 1998**

"What in the name of Merlin's scruffy beard were you thinking? Standing at the front of that madman's class and refusing to cast Crucio." Draco's voice was sharp but his hands were gentle as he smoothed salve on the wounds that Amycus Carrow had carved into Neville's face, arms, and chest. "Never mind. Don't answer. You weren't thinking at all, were you? Bloody Gryffindor. You're all nutters, the whole lot of you."

"C..couldn't d...d...do it. W...wasn't worth t...trying." Neville gritted his teeth to avoid reopening the gash on his cheek. Tremors from this latest round of Cruciatus shook his body, bouncing them slightly on the mattress that Draco had transfigured from his school robe.

The pot of salve clunked on the floor of the abandoned classroom. Draco banished the small cloud of dust with a snarl, and then helped Neville drink two potions. A calming draught and a potion for pain.

"Fucking Crabbe and Goyle. One talent between them and it had to be _this_. If I had an ounce of influence left—" Draco's voice was fierce and low in Neville's ear "—I'm fucking useless even with Snape's protection."

Neville managed to shake his head in denial.

"A lot you know." Draco wrapped his arms around Neville.

Filled with wonder, Neville looked at him and then rested his head against Draco's shoulder. When they were together, it was hard to remember that they'd only really known each other for a few weeks. That he hadn't always trusted that Draco would be there with his potions and salves when he was hurt. That he'd never before felt compelled to reach out and stop other students from bullying Draco since the other boy had lost Crabbe and Goyle's dubious protection.

Neville wasn't sure when it had all changed, when they'd gone from adversaries to friends to — whatever this was becoming. Perhaps when Draco used his mocking voice and pointed insults to full effect and allowed Neville to escape without injury when Zabini and Nott cornered him in Greenhouse 3. Maybe when Neville caught and returned Draco's mother's letter before Alecto Carrow could grab it and taunt him in front of the school yet again about how his father was _indisposed_. Or any of the uncountable reassuring touches during detention, entering and leaving classes, or passing each other in the hallways. Or their unspoken agreement to meet in this abandoned classroom on the nights when Snape patrolled, because Snape never bothered them. Thinking about it too much gave him a headache, and Neville hurt enough as it was.

Finally, the potions took effect. The trembling subsided, and the agony retreated into a low-grade, full-body ache. When a deeper breath caused only a small amount of discomfort, Neville said, "Not your fault."

"Perhaps not, but I'm no help to anyone here. Not you. Not the Slytherins. Not Snape. And certainly not my parents."

"Your parents?" Neville attempted to lift his head to see Draco's expression, but Draco held his head in place and started stroking Neville's back.

"Did you think your friends were the only ones with hostages held against your good behaviour?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"I suppose there's no reason you should."

"We're friends," Neville said. He hesitantly placed his hand on Draco's forearm and massaged the tense muscle. When Draco attempted to pull away, Neville grasped his hand and twined their fingers. "Friends," he repeated. "And there's bravery in this. Don't assume I haven't any clue about the risks of you being my friend."

"Friends. Who'd have thought," Draco murmured and rested his cheek on the top of Neville's head.

Neville curled closer, enjoying the precious feeling of safety and comfort among the stacked desks and chairs. Draco had transfigured desks into thick wooden screens for the night-darkened windows to ensure the faint light provided by the three candles on the floor was not visible from outside. Sometimes, in the deceptive peace and quiet of this room, Neville could almost believe that they were alone in the castle.

Eventually, Draco broke the silence. "He's barking mad, the Dark Lord. Killing and threatening to kill his followers, not just his enemies. Father and Mother are prisoners in their own home. And I failed... failed to kill Dumbledore, failed to identify Potter, failed to return my family to the Dark Lord's favour."

"Identify? Harry?" Heart pounding, almost sick with the possibility of hope, Neville forced himself to keep his head down, not wanting to stop Draco from talking.

"He was there... over the Easter holidays... at the Manor." Draco's voice cracked on the last word.

"And you didn't let them know who he was?"

"I... I couldn't do that to anyone. Not even Potter. You think it's bad here. You have no idea," Draco whispered.

The only comfort Neville could offer was to squeeze Draco's hand and to curl just a little bit closer. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Draco sniffed. "Me too."

"So..." Neville stretched out the vowel until he could think of some way to change the subject. Thinking of Harry gave him an idea. "Those rumours of you and Harry last year, I'm guessing they were wrong."

"Potter? And me? Hardly," Draco said in a passing imitation of his usual drawl. "You've got the wrong Slytherin Prince. I'm not the one your precious Potter's been shagging on the sly."

"Oh," Neville said. "Oh." And suddenly he understood the seemingly nonsensical things that Harry had said last year, and Snape's odd tolerance of the rebel students that had occasionally felt as if the Headmaster was putting himself between them and the Carrows.

"Snape's walking the same tightrope and, I have to tell you, it's bloody exhausting. I wish..."

Neville lay there, quiet and unmoving; his mind was spinning. Harry was alive and, as far as he knew, free. Snape and the Malfoys were apparently at odds with You-Know-Who. If any of the other Death Eaters were feeling their master's displeasure...

Draco interrupted his thoughts. "The Dark Lord should just have fucking _died_ already. I'm so fucking tired of trying to keep all my masks straight, to keep myself and my parents alive." Draco took a shuddering breath. "Your lot have no idea what it's like, expecting us to just up and change sides even if it means a death sentence for everyone else in the family."

Needing to provide some kind of reassurance and to remind Draco that he wasn't alone, Neville murmured, "Some of us understand."

"But not enough of you. Pureblood traditions aren't mere politics, they're our _lives_. When all we see are halfbloods and mu... muggleborns, how can we believe there's a place for _us_?"

 _You could try getting rid of some of your stupid prejudices for a start_ , Neville thought but didn't say. Instead, he straightened up, pushed away, creating just enough distance between them that he could look Draco in the eye. Unable to come up with anything better, he decided to remind Draco that there were purebloods on both sides. "Gran would understand."

"Too bad she doesn't speak for your side, then, because the Weasleys—" Draco snorted and shook his head.

Old resentment rose in Neville. "She might have been willing, if your Aunt hadn't tortured my parents into madness."

Draco released Neville's hand and looked away, down at the floor. When he lifted his head again, his eyes were wide and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He stroked Neville's cheek near the new cut — a touch so gentle and brief that Neville might not have realised it had happened if he hadn't seen it. There was more silence, and then Draco asked, his voice muffled and tentative, "Do you think our families will ever get past what's been done by both sides?"

Reaching out, Neville clasped Draco's hand again. "Maybe if we help them."

"We've got to survive this first."

Neville didn't know what to say to that, so he took Draco in his arms and pulled him down onto the mattress. They lay like that, curled up together, until they had barely enough time return to their dorms and get ready to face the school again.

~*~

 **December 1998**

Hogsmeade was closing up for the night as Neville walked down the main road. Lights flickered out in the few shops that had reopened and flickered on in the flats above some of the shops.

Silhouettes moved behind curtains, but Neville was alone on the street. Just him and the owls that roosted in the rubble of the Post Office. Wand at the ready, he kept an eye on the shadows in shop doorways and alleys.

Like Hogwarts, the buildings were in various stages of repair. Honeydukes and Gladrags were freshly painted and looked better than they had before the battle. The boards that covered Zonko's windows were covered with graffiti, torn wanted posters, and signs proclaiming "Future home of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes". On the biggest WWW sign, picture George looked as if he was clinging to picture Fred for dear life. Neville blinked against the prickling of his eyes and forced himself to keep going.

The Hog's Head was unchanged. Dirty grey smoke puffed from the chimney. The old wooden sign creaked and swung over the door. The windows were so filthy that Neville was sure that no light from the one street lamp could reach inside. Not exactly the kind of place where Neville could imagine a Malfoy hanging out, but Draco had been adamant that he would not go to the Three Broomsticks.

The door opened and Neville stepped back into the dubious protection of a doorway across the street. The witch or wizard who emerged was swathed from head to toe in tatty robes and scarves. Head down, the ragged figure turned left and shuffled down the road away from the main street.

Neville swallowed hard and holstered his wand his wand as he stepped out of the doorway. Aberforth would toss him out on his ear if he dared to go in with his wand out. Then again, if he got himself kicked out and Draco didn't show up, no one else would know that he'd been stood up. And if he did show up, Neville wouldn't have to endure all the excuses about why Draco's feelings had changed. Really, it would be safer to turn around now and just go back to Hogwarts. And, he thought, none of that made the least bit of sense.

Feeling horribly conspicuous standing there, Neville crossed the street.

~*~

 **May 1, 1998**

"Someone's trying to get in." Seamus yanked at Neville's elbow, pulling him away from Michael Corner's bedside.

"So?" Neville shrugged. "If they're not on our side, the room won't open the door."

"The door keeps flickering, like the room isn't sure." Seamus glared at Neville. "That can only mean one person. What if he gets in? What if _they_ catch him doing it?"

"He wouldn't let that happen, and you know it."

"But if he does get in, some of the others—" Seamus glanced meaningfully at a group of students who were talking quietly near the wireless "—are likely to hit first and ask questions later."

"He won't. I'll go out and talk to him." Neville headed for the second door — the one he'd had the room create to let them go out into a less frequently used hallway. "Can you finish up with Michael? He needs more of that salve applied."

"Yeah, yeah," Seamus muttered. "Just be careful."

Wand raised, Neville crept out and eased the door closed behind him. Peering around the corner, joy flashed through him when he saw who it was. Draco had come looking for him.

Draco was pacing back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement, muttering over and over, "I know he's in there. You have to let me in. Please. You have to."

"Draco?" The name emerged from Neville's lips in a rush of concern when he realised that the other boy was a complete mess; blond hair ungelled and hanging in his eyes, robe torn in several places.

"Well, that's bloody brilliant, isn't it?" Draco hissed. "Did you even spare a thought for the rest of us before taking over the room?"

"Don't, all right? Just don't. You know why we did it."

Draco raked a hand through his hair. "That doesn't give you the right to lock everyone else out of the only truly safe space in the castle."

"Heeeere little Malfoy. Come out, come out, wherever you are," Alecto Carrow sang in a little girl voice. "Auntie Bella's sent a surprise for you."

"Neville," Draco all but begged. "I can't stay out here."

Letting Draco into the Room of Requirement was just as impossible as leaving him out here to be found by that nutter. He trusted Draco, understood the position he was in, but some of the others would string him up — and Neville with him.

"Ohhh, Draaacoooo." Alecto giggled, wheezed, and snorted. "It's time to open your pressie."

"Shall I get down on my knees and grovel?" Draco whispered. "Is that what you want?"

"No." Neville was horrified at the thought. "Come on." Grabbing Draco's arm, he hauled him down the hallway to a piece of wall covered by a faded tapestry. He flicked his wand and muttered the password, then dragged Draco through the door that appeared. As soon as they were through, the entrance vanished again.

"You..." Draco yanked his arm free and looked around. "What is this place?"

"Not sure," Neville responded. "Nearly Headless Nick told me about the place, but we don't use it very often."

Draco pulled himself together. A few Reparos restored his school robe. Fingers carded and patted his hair into place. A deep breath, a straightening of his spine, and his usual cold, distant mask slid back over his pale face. He paced around the room, stopping before the single piece of sheet-covered furniture. Plucking at the dusty sheet, nostrils flared with disdain, he sneered, "Not even passable."

"Then fix it." Neville crossed his hands over his chest, lips twitching into a smile.

"If I must," Draco said with mock hauteur and transfigured the moth-eaten settee into a leather sofa and the sheet into a matching footstool. Making himself comfortable, he gestured at Neville. "Well, come on then. You know the old cow. She doesn't give up easily."

"You are... amazing." Neville laughed and flopped down next to Draco.

"Of course I am," Draco flipped his hair back playfully. "It's why you—"

When it was clear that Draco wasn't going to finish, Neville leant over and took his hand. "Yeah, it's why I."

Draco lifted Neville's hand to his lips and placed a kiss on each knuckle.

 _He kissed my hand._ Neville's heart stuttered and he stared at their hands in wonder. The tenderness of the action flummoxed him. Blokes like Draco didn't do things like that to blokes like him. They just didn't.

Then Draco rubbed Neville's hand against his cheek. The feeling of soft stubble against his fingers drew Neville out of his daze.

"This is such a bad time to do this," Draco murmured.

"Has there ever been a good time for us?"

"Point." Pursing his lips, Draco continued, "We don't have very long. Snape sent me to tell you that they're coming."

Neville's veins filled with ice, his stomach churned. "Now?"

"Sometime tonight, according to him." The shaking of Draco's hands belied the calm expression on his face. "But we have time, an hour maybe more if—" a pause while Draco bit his lip "—if you want to."

Heat flushed the chill from Neville's body. "I'd like... if you want."

"It _was_ my idea."

And then Draco kissed him. Soft lips pressed against Neville's lips, gentle hands pulled him close, until there was no space between their bodies. Neville slid his fingers into Draco's fine, soft hair, shaped the back of his skull.

They opened their mouths, deepened the kiss. Tongues and bodies and heat and — Merlin — Neville needed to feel more of Draco. He leaned back, twisted, pulled and pushed, and somehow managed to end up on his back with Draco on top. His weight was good, safe, comforting.

Draco broke the kiss, looked down at him, breathing heavily. "You're sure?"

"Can't you tell?" Neville bucked up, pressed his erect cock into Draco's groin, groaning when Draco did the same.

"Fuck, yes." Draco's hips undulated. Then he took advantage of Neville's distraction to turn them sideways, facing each other.

Neville reached out with his free arm and pulled Draco closer. Draco matched the movement. Until Neville could hardly tell where he ended and Draco began.

They kissed again, longer, harder. The ache expanded in Neville's mouth, throat, cock. Their free hands moved up and down each other's backs, hips, bums. Their hips rocked against each other, needing to touch, to feel through layers and layers of clothing.

Closer. Closer was better. Shut out the insistent voice in the back of Neville's mind. He clutched at the fabric rucked around Draco's waist. Tried to forget that a mad woman walked the hallways, that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters were on their way. He wasn't going to worry now. Later would take care of itself.

Draco's hand squeezed his bum and Neville whimpered. Thoughts fled. All he knew was the need, the unrelenting want.

He kissed Draco again. A long, desperate kiss. Mouths aching and open.

Their harsh breathing filled the room. Neville explored as much of Draco's body as he could reach, using lips and tongue, hand and legs, chest and hips, feeling the aching loss of all those places covered with clothes and shoes.

He comforted Draco, was comforted by him. So tightly wrapped they could barely move, their bodies rocked against each other. Draco snaked a hand between them, shoved aside robes, opened zippers, and yanked at trousers and pants. Their cocks touched, Draco wrapped his hand around them, and murmured a spell that made everything slick and oh-so-perfect. They rocked harder, faster. Awareness was reduced to the friction of cock against cock against squeezing, pulling, tugging hand.

Between kisses, sounds and words babbled from Neville's lips. Feelings surged through him. Want, need, love. Draco's touch. Touching Draco. So good.

A slide of skin against skin, a squeeze of Draco's hand, and their cocks pumped. Orgasms shuddered through both of them.

Afterwards, they lay quietly, chests heaving, hearts thudding. Neville moaned his loss when Draco withdrew his hand.

"Amazing," Draco said. "You are, you know."

Neville felt himself blush, tried to duck his head and hide it, but there wasn't enough space between them.

"I don't lie." Draco smiled. "Not about things like this."

"You're crazy," Neville responded.

"About you."

Blushing again, Neville stammered out a "Me too" and stopped worrying about whether or not he should admit to his feelings.

Their peace was short-lived. Bare minutes passed, it seemed to Neville, before they were separating, tidying up, and casting cleaning spells on their clothing. Then, there was nothing left to do and the moment was upon them. They stared at each other.

Feeling awkward, Neville pulled Draco into a rough hug. "Whatever else you do, stay alive, all right? Do what you do best, survive and help your friends survive."

"As long as you promise to do the same."

"No promises. But I'll try."

"Just remember..." Draco cleared his throat. "If it comes down to it, you stand up and make it count."

Not trusting his voice, Neville nodded.

They stood there, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together.

When Neville's DA coin heated up in his pocket, he cradled Draco's face in his hands, kissed him one more time, and then stepped back. "I... I have to go. They need me."

Draco sighed. "If I give you a galleon some day, will you come when I need you?"

"Of course." Neville ducked his head and swallowed hard against the lump that rose from his chest to his throat.

"Afterwards. When this is all over..."

"We'll meet..."

"At the Hog's Head."

"When we agreed."

"Only if you still want to, though," Draco finished. "No promises, no pressure."

"I'll be there," Neville assured him.

"Me too."

They kissed again. Then, after poking their heads cautiously out the door to check in both directions, they were out of the room and heading down the hallway. Neville stopped in front of the Room of Requirement, planning to watch Draco until he was out of sight.

Draco paused at the top of the stairs, turned around, and called, "Longbottom."

Neville tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"I was wrong, back in first year. Some days, Neville, you're worth twelve of me."

~*~

 **December 1998**

Neville commandeered a table near the back, one with two seats against the wall and a clear view of the room and the door. He'd used a cleaning spell on the dusty bottle of Butterbeer, before and after opening it, but he still wasn't sure he wanted to drink from it. His cloak was carefully folded over the back of his chair, so as not to trail on the mucky floor. A candle stub sat on the sticky, unfinished wood. The flame guttered in melted wax.

Aberforth Dumbledore stood behind the bar, scowling and pretending to polish a glass with a dirty rag. A few other patrons huddled at tables in corners, rendered unidentifiable by shadows and shrouding hoods, scarves, or thick veils. No Draco though. That much Neville knew for sure.

He picked at the label on his bottle, vanishing each little bit of paper as it came away, until there was nothing left. Unwilling to draw attention to himself, Neville made sure his Tempus displayed the time below the table, hidden from everyone else. Five minutes to go.

Before the unbearable wait drained what little courage he had left, Neville tried to think about something else other than Draco. After all, compared to Harry, he'd had it pretty easy. No howlers. No supposed friends or former enemies lining up to condemn him or his relationship in the _Prophet_ or on the wizarding wireless. No matter how Neville personally felt about Snape, he and Harry shouldn't have to hide their relationship. And, hopefully, he and Draco wouldn't... Neville slammed a mental foot down and stopped himself from going down that unending path.

Only two minutes left.

He could do this. Waiting was definitely easier than last year at Hogwarts — and how much did it suck that he was going to have to repeat at least some of it to get his NEWTs? He just had to sit here. He didn't have to fight Death Eaters, or kill werewolves or giant snakes. No one was trying to kill _him_. Instead, he would get to see Draco tonight. He would. Not like the battle, when he saw everyone but Draco as he fought his way through the castle. And this time, at least, he knew Draco was alive. He just had to be stubborn and patient for a little bit longer.

Oh, Merlin, he's four minutes late.

But this was Draco, Neville reminded himself, who ran on Malfoy standard time. Cancelling his Tempus spell, he started to get up, to leave, but his legs refused to support him. He felt numb with disappointment. No matter how many doubts he'd had, he hadn't really believed that Draco would stand him up. He swigged the last of his Butterbeer, then slammed the bottle down on the table, making the candle flame and the other customers jump.

A growl from Aberforth sent everyone back to their own business. Neville mouthed an apology. The barman just jerked his head towards the entrance.

The door was open, letting in a spike of dusty light and a single, cloaked figure. Then the door closed and the room was once again dim.

Mouth dry, Neville watched Draco push back the hood of his cloak and walk towards him.

 _Gorgeous_ , Neville thought. The pale blond hair had grown out, almost to Draco's shoulders, and it was free of gel, looking soft and touchable. The grey eyes looked tired and held an emotion that Neville couldn't quite identify. Hope, perhaps, or relief.

Then, the realisation struck — _He came_ — and Neville tried to rise to his feet, but his head was spinning and his legs wouldn't support him.

Draco sat down across from him.

They sat, staring at each other, hands bare inches apart on the table.

"You—" Draco started, but then Aberforth slammed another bottle of Butterbeer on the table in front of Neville and a tumbler of amber liquid next to Draco's hand.

"No tab. Pay before you leave or you don't leave." Aberforth glowered at them and stomped off.

Draco sniffed and swept his eyes around the interior of the tavern. "This place," he drawled, "has not changed in the least." He tapped his wand against his tumbler and muttered a spell that left the glass sparkling in the candlelight. "Still dodgy and disgustingly filthy and unaccountably reassuring."

Deliriously happy, stomach cramping with nerves, Neville said, "Yeah. It is definitely all of that."

"So, I—" Draco gulped half his drink, fixed his gaze on the table, and started talking fast, almost as if he was worried Neville would get up and leave if he didn't get it all out "—I'm sorry I'm late but I was in this meeting at the Ministry, trying to get permits to open another home for the orphans. We've got the one in Wiltshire, but the Parkinsons donated this land in the Lake District, and Hermione and Harry thought it would make a great holiday camp for the kids staying with us and those who could stay with relatives and..."

"Shhh." Neville took Draco's hand in both of his, pulling it close to his chest. "You came."

Draco blinked and looked up. A smile curved his lips. He reached over with his free hand and smoothed a finger over the scar on Neville's cheek. "Yes, I... yes, I'm here."

~fin~


End file.
